THE following verses are
very old, and the Em u&i name of their author is unknown. It is believed
they have never been printed, but were handed down from one generation
to another by “word o’ mouth.” They used to be sung at Burgh convivial
meetings one hundred to one hundred and fifty years ago; and at the end
of George III.’s reign, and during that of George IV., on the yearly
birthday festivals in the Assembly Room, by William Colston,
tobacconist, whose nickname Swas “Rouland Kiddes.” Willie was a very
decent man. He died at Gifford more than thirty years ago, at the
advanced age of eighty-five years. After his time, they became scarcely
known, and are so yet.

The late Earl of
Haddington had heard of them, and a copy was procured for him, written
down from the dictation of the late Baillie Moodie, with some
amendments. They are as follows :—

The famous town of
Haddington, long prosper it will,
It stands so delightful below the Skid Hill.
It stands so delightful, for all men to see,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

When the sun it is up, and
the sky it is clear,
To the top of the Skid Hill, then you may repair,
And see the ships sailing upon the salt sea,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

And when you return from
the top of the hill,
And in by Jamie Brown’s * to get a good gill,
You may talk to your sweetheart, and no one to see,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

* There was a
public-house, kept by one James Brown, at the east side of the Skid
Hill, on the road-side. The remains of it can still be seen, and form
part of the wall on East Garleton farm.

Up round the bleachfield,
and down by the Haugh
And there with your sweetheart, you may sit down and talk;
The small birds do whistle on ilka green tree,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

The merchants of
Haddington, they drive a fine trade,
They dress up their daughters in baith white and red,
At balls and practisings their sweethearts to see,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

There runs a fine river by
the back of the town,
Which separates the Nungate from brave Haddington.
The large and small fishes in it do sport and do play,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

At the time of the fair,
there is mirth going on,
There is fiddling and dancing all over the town,
At the sign of the “Bee Hive,” where all men may see.
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

At Fastern’s e’en they
have a football,
The Trades, and the Carters, they play at it all;
But the Whipman laddies, they have lost the day,
As the trades were so nimble, they carried it away.

Near to the Tyne side
there is a fine church,
Which strangers can look at and admire very much,
While round by the Haugh, you can walk and talk free,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

There’s a fine weekly
market, to which farmers resort,
To sell their fine wheat, and what they have got;
They show off their daughters with delight and with glee,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

The Provost and Bailies on
auld George’s birth-night
Invite the town’s-folk to enjoy themselves a* right;
They drink wine at the Cross, with very much glee,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

Up street to the Council
room they march in great wealth,
And drink flowing bumpers to good Geordie’s health.
They are happy and joyful, at this yearly Ploy,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

The Provost, and Bailies,
and Council and a’,
Are men of respect, and nane can say na’,
And lang may they live, and prosper each year,
So every man to his mind, brave Haddington for me.

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